


Twelve Days - Two (1 of 2)

by abbykrieger



Series: Twelve Days [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:00:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbykrieger/pseuds/abbykrieger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn't need him, is the trouble. Everyone who needs him forgives him, because they have to; otherwise they wouldn't get what they need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Days - Two (1 of 2)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bienfilatre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bienfilatre/gifts).



She doesn't need him, is the trouble. Everyone who needs him forgives him, because they have to; otherwise they wouldn't get what they need. Behold her powers of deduction. Lestrade, obviously, needs him, Watson needs him. Their landlady - word gets round. His mealy-mouthed brother, turning up in all weathers like a disappointed groupie. The government. Name them. Name their needs. 

For his services Sherlock becomes invincible, invincible like any crooked cop. He'd be shocked by the comparison, she's sure, but that's his privilege, to shit and not smell the stink. And since there's no way round him, it has to be through, his way, which is tyranny. Everyone pretends to hate it, to yowl and complain, to be upset as she is when the law gets wadded and tossed in the dustbin, but the truth is it's just a different kind of flattery because...they're all getting what they need.

Some days, some cases, Sally Donovan has trouble getting to work. 

Last night, for instance. Last night was bad. The girl found in the car, the last moment, Sherlock delaying to give a flourish, to better hear the applause of the audience up in his sickened head. Sally's the one tearing the door open when the car's hauled up at river edge, getting the nearly dead girl out onto the mac, smashing on her chest to get the water up out of her lungs. They all of them standing around her have seen drowning deaths and know what that is. Have been down to the coroners and seen those lungs themselves. They all know it's a horror and what the seconds mean. Sherlock - if he's so smart he could have figured it faster. Those extra seconds are on him, just like he'd put her in there himself.

Lestrade needs Sherlock because Sherlock keeps delivering them alive, if only just. And Lestrade's relief to have that done blurs out the other bits. His feelings. Sod him, she has feelings. Pumping out the water she knew this girl was five breaths off from the end. Glancing up she saw Sherlock's face, and - feelings - could feel the ambivalence. Knew he was interested to see her revived as he would have been to count those last five breaths off himself. Possibly more. No mistaking the thrill he'd have, to know he'd counted right. 

The phone bleats. She checks her watch but she's not late yet.  
"I'm coming. I'm on my way in."  
"Actually --" Lestrade's voice has that self-conscious flutter. She knows what the flutter means. "I'd rather you stayed there. Just a bit. Sherlock's on his way to you."  
"What. For." Can't make any part of it a question.  
"From last night. There's some - he wants to check your hands."  
"You let him know where I live."  
"He knows anyway. Look, Sally, I'm sorry, but - "  
"I get it." She cuts him off before he can say it, before he can tell her what's making to hell with them all, where they sit watching bricks flash by from their home in the basket. Before he can tell her he needs this.


End file.
